


The Piano Teacher

by ElectraRhodes, trashbambi



Series: FanArt By Me Collection [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Almost a Christmas story, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mischa Lives, Music, Some Fluff, Teacher Will, with amazing art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 17:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16999743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraRhodes/pseuds/ElectraRhodes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashbambi/pseuds/trashbambi
Summary: ‘“Are you Mr Graham? Hannibal said you were coming. I’m Mischa. I’m interviewing you. If that’s ok?”He smiled a bit more. She was managing her shyness with a reasonable amount of bravado. Well, he could work with that.“Yes I am. And yes it is. Let’s not hang around out here! Brrr. Show me the ivories.”He saw her twitch a small smile. Alright then.’A short for Hannibal Createive’s #ForBothOfUs with art by the incomparable Trashbambi! Come for the art, stay for the story.





	The Piano Teacher

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Trashbambi for being a wonderful collaborator! And for the quite amazing art.

Against the background of some harpsichord music playing on the stereo in his study Hannibal could hear Mischa dutifully plodding through her scales on the piano in the room below. He turned the record player down and listened properly. He knew she was trying. But it sounded lifeless and dull. He sighed and thought back to the happy child she had been. And the changes time had wrung from them. He could hear voices below as she paused and started the sequence over. Frederick was doing his best, but he seemed lacklustre in his efforts. Or maybe they had just never really gelled.

The hour played out and at the end he heard the door to the living room open and then voices in the hallway and the opening and closing of the front door. He waited a moment or two and then heard Mischa go back to the piano and begin the piece Frederick must have asked her to practice.

Over the next two weeks he would grow to really loathe that particular piece of Bartok.

......................................

 

“My darling, would you like toast? There’s some new marmalade.”

Mischa smiled faintly at her brother over the breakfast table.

“Sure. What is it? Just orange?”

“With some port. But don’t tell Alana.”

Mischa ducked her head a little and smiled. Alana was ok. As her brother’s friends went. At least she didn’t try to be her ‘friend’, god.

“Thanks. Yeah. Ok.”

They ate in silence for a while. And Hannibal counted it a win. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and folded it carefully on the table. Hannibal wished she’d be a little more careless, just sometimes.

“Mr Chilton wants me to try the Brahms next.” She paused for a moment. “I’m sorry. I know you like it.”

Hannibal got up from his seat and rounded the table and crouched at her side and put his arms round her. She hugged him back hard and buried her head against his shoulder. He held her tight and stroked her hair.

“Maybe so, but I like you far more.”

He thought she might be crying.

...............................

 

In the small coffee shop off Charles Street in the Heritage District Hannibal sat opposite his friend disconsolately stirring his coffee.

“I admit I am at a loss over what to do. She is remarkably resistant to giving up her lessons but seems to derive no enjoyment from them at all. She claims to still love the music. It’s just that..”

He trailed off rather miserably. Alana eyed him.

“She used to play with your father? Maybe that’s it. But I imagine that was the first thing you thought of.”

He nodded.

“Of course. But it’s more than that. She is going through the motions, but it is like winter has settled in her heart and taken up residence.”

Alana took a drink of her coffee. If that was so then Mischa was not alone in this seasonal grief. Hannibal too was half frozen.

“Is it Fred? I know he tries but he’s not for everyone. He does best with a certain kind of middle school boy. I’m not sure he’s got the knack of teenage girls.”

Hannibal nodded slightly.

“It’s not impossible. He spoke to me last week. He wants Mischa to put in for her next grade and to perform at their spring concert. I asked her about it over supper.”

Alana raised her eyebrows and Hannibal sighed.

“Let’s just say she ate nothing further and wouldn’t eat breakfast the next day.”

“As punishment?”

“More likely fear. I don’t want her to be afraid Alana.”

Alana looked at him meditatively.

“Fear is the price of imagination isn’t it. What does she think will happen? No, don’t answer that.” She paused a moment and then went on. “I might know someone. He’s not exactly a friend of mine, but he’s a good pianist, and he does teach a few people. He’s good at it.”

“Even sad teenagers?”

“With anyone. He’s very empathetic. Let me give you his number.”

 

...............................

 

Will stood on the top doorstep of the house and waited for someone to come to the door. He looked around, nice neighbourhood, clearly monied but without being too flashy, restrained. He bet no one’s doors got egged at Halloween. Shame. Could do with a little mixing up maybe.

He smiled and just managed eye contact with the girl who opened the door.

“Are you Mr Graham? Hannibal said you were coming. I’m Mischa. I’m interviewing you. If that’s ok?”

He smiled a bit more. She was managing her shyness with a reasonable amount of bravado. Well, he could work with that.

“Yes I am. And yes it is. Let’s not hang around out here! Brrr. Show me the ivories.”

He saw her twitch a small smile. Not bad.

He followed her into the front living room and smiled when he saw the upright tucked into the book lined room. Very nice indeed. He pulled off his jacket, and threw it over the back of chair.

“Alright then. Let’s hear something you really hate!”

She laughed and then played the Brahms with more gusto than he’d expected. Good.

.................................

 

Mischa closed the front door. And grinned. She’d wondered if the first couple of lessons with Mr Graham might have been a fluke. The novelty and all that, but he was ok. Funny. And his pullovers and the little bow ties that he twiddled with when he was pleased with a bit she’d played were hilarious.

“If I look like a piano teacher, people treat me like a piano teacher. It’s good camouflage.”

She’d frowned at him.

“What does that mean. You are a piano teacher.”

He’d laughed.

“See! It’s working!”

She was still trying to work that one out.

As she went back to the living room she hummed a little to herself. Ok. So, not the fucking Bartok (she rolled her eyes at herself at least it was only inside her head she’d said it, her brother would do his nut) but maybe something else.

...................................

 

Hannibal sat in his study reviewing some patient notes when he heard Mischa start up in the room below. He stopped what he was doing and listened. It was a new piece Will Graham had set her and he was already growing fond of the Bruch. It was probably pushing her a little and she seemed to want to be. He smiled to himself and carried on with his notes.

...................................

 

Mischa hummed as she poured the Cumberland sauce over the thin slices of pork loin. Without commenting Hannibal passed her the beans. She carried on humming. He passed the potatoes.

.................................

 

Hannibal opened the front door and dropped his briefcase just to one side as he unwound his scarf and took off his heavy coat and then hung both up in the small lobby cupboard.

He listened. He heard a scale being played backwards and forwards simultaneously and a lot of laughter. Then another piece of ridiculous flummery. He stepped quietly across the hallway to the living room and pushed open the door that was already ajar. He stood in the doorway and watched as Mischa played the most difficult part of some Bach Will had set her. Will waved a hand in the air as though conducting. She finished and clapped and laughed as he hadn’t heard her do for almost a year.

He thought he might weep as he backed quietly out of the room. Let Will in his ridiculous yellow knitted cabled pullover keep this glorious moment for himself. For he must surely know the magic he was weaving.

Restored to life. Hannibal thought. They were both being restored to life. By the music, but also possibly by the presence of Will Graham. He smiled, and if his eyes glistened just a little who was to know.

...............................

Hannibal clicked the radio over in the Bentley and settled further into his heated seat as the unparalleled music of Peer Gynt spread through the car. The wipers were just about making headway against the rain though it was a close run race.

He almost didn’t see the figure huddled under the sloping roof of the bus shelter, and he pulled up a little beyond it and had to get the door open into the rain to shout.

“Will Graham? Will? Get in! Don’t stand there. Get in. Let me give you a lift.”

He was glad when Will didn’t demur but got straight in.

“God, thank you! Where did this come from. It’s like something out of Benjamin Britten!”

Hannibal smiled.

“It is a little deluvian. It was forecasted this morning.”

“Was it? I must have tuned it out. Thank you. Look you don’t need to take me all the way. It’s a bit of a drive.”

Hannibal concentrated whilst he pulled out into the line of traffic.

“You don’t have a car?”

“It’s in the shop. I’d do it myself but I hate messing around with the brake liners. I’ll get it back tomorrow.”

They continued for a few minutes, listening to the music. Will stretched out.

“Now this I could get behind.”

He yawned and closed his eyes.

Hannibal drove for a few minutes and then glanced over at him.

“Mr Graham. I apologise, but I’m not actually sure where you live.”

Will scrambled to sit up straighter in his seat.

“Damn. Sorry. I might have nodded off there for a moment. Right. Yes. Really you don’t have to take me all the way.”

“Why not tell me where you live and then I’ll decide.”

Thirty minutes later he pulled up outside a modest clapboard house on the outskirts of Wolf Trap. Will turned to him.

“Let me at least make you a coffee or something. To say thank you. Before you drive back.”

Hannibal considered for a moment. Really he ought to get back, Mischa would be home from debate club and he should get supper on.

“Thank you. I’d like that.”

“Great. Come on then. Let’s brave the elements. Oh. Yeah.” He paused as they both shut the car doors firmly and ran for the covered porch. “I should ask, how are you with dogs?”

“Dogs?”

Will smiled.

..................................

 

Hannibal graced a hand over the yellowed keys of the old baby grand. It still sounded mellow but the piano was not the crisp more modern model he had anticipated. From the kitchen Will called to him.

“You want cream or sugar with that?”

“Just black is fine. Thank you.”

He turned and looked at the walls, between two upright bookcases were a few framed diplomas and photographs; an amateur watercolour of a pile of dogs that Hannibal thought might include some of the ones lying on the rug in front of the fireplace; and a shadow box of four fishing lures. He swivelled on one foot, there was a boat motor in a box shoved up under one of the windows, and tucked into the corner of the double front room there was a sofa bed folded out.

“It was my dad. He was bad at the end. He slept in here mostly. I can’t quite bring myself to fold it away, you know, makes it kind of final. Here you go.”

Hannibal nodded and took the mug from him and they sat in the easy chairs either side of the chimney.

“Mischa must have told you about our parents. Or Alana did.”

Will shrugged.

“Alana said not to ask basically. So I haven’t. Mischa said she was seeing someone. That right? Therapy?”

Hannibal nodded.

“We have both been talking with someone. And you? About your father?”

“Dad? Oh well, that was just the last thing in a long line of things. So, yes. And no. Mostly no. I found my therapy in the bottom of a bottle of whiskey, and when that didn’t work out I mostly fished. But I saw someone when Dad was dying. I knew I wouldn’t make it otherwise. She introduced me to Alana actually. She didn’t mean to, I was just at the same concert. She helped. Some.”

“And now?”

“Now I can actually leave the house. Go to concerts again. I’ve a few pupils. It’s ok. Better than ok. I’m enjoying the music again. Didn’t Alana say?” He watched as Hannibal slowly shook his head. “Ok. It was shit. One of my pupils was killed; Abigail, nice kid, sweet. I was at her house, her dad went crazy. I don’t know, some stupid awful thing. Anyway the house got raided. And her dad killed her before being shot by some FBI guy. Her mom survived. But she just lay there bleeding out and I couldn’t stop it. Terrible.”

He stopped speaking and set his empty mug on the floor.

“I had a bit of a break down. Dreams. Unexpected bouts of crying. Dad was good but he’d just been diagnosed. It was a tough ride. I drank too much. And fucked up a rehearsal performance so badly they cancelled the concert. I didn’t play for six months, longer maybe. Yeah. Closer to a year.”

He held his hands loosely between his knees and Hannibal wondered how much work had gone into him being able to not wring them endlessly.

“I’m sorry. I won’t offer anything else. It would seem inadequate. But I am.”

Will nodded.

“Thanks. Yeah. Me too. And about what happened. With your parents. I’m guessing you don’t talk about it either.”

Hannibal frowned very slightly into his cup, who could he talk to about it at all, outside of sessions with his own psychiatrist.

“Not very often.”

Will sighed.

“You could come fishing with me. If you liked.”

Hannibal looked up at him in surprise.

“Fishing? In November?”

“Sure. We can both be sad cold guys together. No one looks twice at ice fishermen being miserable.”

It startled a laugh out of Hannibal and Will might even have smiled a little.

................................

“So, Fred told me about this concert thing. In March, right?”

Mischa sighed, couldn’t they let it go.

“I don’t want to. Not really. I’ll do the exam. But. I don’t have to do I?”

Will turned on the piano bench and looked at her.

“You think I’d make you? You’re kidding? I can’t even make myself, I’m not going to try and force you. Or bribe you. Or whatever I’m supposed to hang in front of you like some tasty bait.”

He saw the look on Mischa’s face.

“What?”

“Hannibal mentioned Venice. Or Florence.”

“Did he now. Well I expect if you show any enthusiasm for either, your bag would be packed, tickets bought, and passport acquired before you’d even finished saying the words. With or without the concert.”

Mischa smirked.

“That’s probably true.” She made a small noise and Will waited. “Do you think I should go to Venice and Florence?”

“Oh I don’t know. The art, which obviously you’d hate. The sunshine. Also terrible. The amazing food, which frankly sounds like a drag. What else? The music? Nuh uh. I can’t imagine what he was thinking. It sounds appalling, how long?”

“He said maybe two weeks. He can get cover for his patients with enough notice and I have time at Easter.”

“And he mentioned the concert? As a condition.”

She slouched a little on the bench beside him.

“Well not a condition as such. He just said he’d like it.”

Will smiled slightly.

“What a terrible brother he is. Awful. I can’t think how you cope.”

She smiled.

“You’re right. He is terrible. Really horrible. Shall we go and have tea and the crap cookies he will have left for us.”

“Did he bake them?”

She grinned as she stood up.

“Yeah. He did.”

Will shook his head and followed her into the hallway and along to the kitchen. The scent of warm cinnamon and sugar glaze greeted them.

“Oh yeah. He’s an abomination.”

..................................

Mischa drank her cup of hot chocolate and watched as her brother passed a plate to her piano teacher. She heard Hannibal laugh at something Will said and then shake his head with a small chuckle.

A chuckle. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard Hannibal chuckle. She tipped her head to one side and half hid behind the cup. It was one of those oversized ones so it gave good cover.

He looked happy.

She looked at Mr Graham. He looked happy too. And rather hilariously Hannibal was wearing that nice red cable jumper their mother had knitted and Mr Graham was wearing a red cabled pullover. They matched, she thought. They really did. Oh. Oh of course they did. They totally did.

She smiled into her cup. Well, ok.

......................................

Hannibal poked his head around the door of the living room.

“Will? Are you staying? Mischa, don’t forget to call Beverly later. She left a message for you.”

Will looked over his shoulder at Hannibal standing in the doorway holding a drying up cloth. It wasn’t entirely clear how long he had been listening.

“What is it? Will I like it?”

Mischa nudged his arm.

“Don’t get him started. It’ll be fine, it’s some kind of chicken soup. And bread. And then a dessert thing. Poached pears? Smells like it.”

Hannibal smiled and detached himself from the door jamb and disappeared off down the hallway. Will turned on the bench.

“Have you told him yet?”

“That I’ll play? Nope. Stringing it out a bit. You can tell him if you like. Aren’t you fishing on Sunday?”

His face twitched in a small smile.

“Aren’t you fishing now?”

She laughed and then flexed her fingers.

“One more run through?”

He nodded. 

“What you got for me?”

“I might have had a go at the Schubert?”

“You are a very bad pupil.”

She laughed as she began the opening phrase of ‘The Trout’.

......................................

 

“Hannibal says the fishing was good. It just sounded cold to me.”

Will smiled and flipped through the book on the stand atop the piano again.

“You ate them didn’t you? Sometimes you have to put up with a little discomfort to get something good.”

She smirked and took the book from him and then picked the page she wanted and set it back up. She flexed her fingers and began to play.

“Is this your fishing as therapy thing? You should trademark it. Write a bestseller.”

“I’ll leave that to Fred thanks.”

She laughed as she ran through the first dozen bars.

“Did Alana tell you? Or do you see Mr Chilton socially?”

“Sort of socially. Concert intermissions, after recital drinks, that kind of thing. And he told me. Not Alana. Though she might have mentioned it.”

“He wasn’t terrible as a teacher you know.”

“He’s not. He’s got a great reputation. Some kids love him.”

She paused a moment.

“I get that run wrong every time. Why do I get it wrong every time?”

“I don’t know. Why do you get it wrong every time?”

“Aren’t you supposed to know?”

“Sure. I could hazard a guess. But I think you know already.”

She slouched again and then sat up and shook her hands out in front of her.

“I am as light as a moth dancing in the moonlight.”

She played the run without making a mistake. And then carried on the piece to the end, Will turning the pages as required.

He smiled at her.

“That was alright wasn’t it.”

“Yeah it was. You’re not terrible either.”

He laughed.

“I’ll put it on my business cards. ‘Will Graham. Not a terrible piano teacher.’ What do you think?”

“I think you’d get more pupils. Are you staying for supper.”

“Am I invited?”

She got up from the bench.

“I’ll go and find out.”

.......................................

Will smiled at Mischa and her friend Beverly as they clutched each other as they crossed the outdoor ice rink.

“They’re really pretty terrible at this aren’t they?”

Hannibal smiled back at him.

“By the end of the session Mischa will be dreaming of the Olympics and Beverly will be over here drinking hot chocolate. Happens every year. We missed last year. I’m glad she wanted to try again.”

Will took the tall glass of mulled wine from Hannibal’s outstretched glove and then leaned against the table beside him.

“Thanks. I haven’t had this for ages. I kinda like and hate the cloves. You know.”

“Tastes like a pomander smells. Yes. But the heat is good.”

They watched as the two girls skirted round a small group of toddlers with a range of parents.

“She’s told you she’s going to play?”

Hannibal nodded.

“She has. She said something about only doing it if you’d do a duet. You know you don’t have to say yes don’t you?”

Will sighed.

“This might come off as rude, but she’s a scheming little minx. Who does she get it from, you? And yeah, I know. She said the same to me. I’m thinking about it.”

“Well, don’t do it on her account.”

Will swilled the contents of his glass around with the cinnamon stick.

“Or yours? If she plays I know it’d make you happy.”

Hannibal took the stick out of his heat proof glass, drained it and then set it down on the table they were leaning against.

“I can’t dangle Italy in front of you in quite the same way.” He stopped for a moment and bent to tighten the laces on one of his skates. “I’m going to see if I can impress on Mischa that on the ice too practice is a wonderful thing. Apparently her friends think I do a very good Viktor Nikiforov.”

Will watched as Hannibal skated over to his sister and her friend and did a small twirl at the end. He finished up his drink and sighed a little. Viktor? Sure, and wasn’t he just Yuri Katsuki. And yes, please, dangle Italy in front of him too.

.....................................

Christmas arrived and Will joined a small party at Hannibal and Mischa’s house. He even surprised himself by having a good time. 

The three of them spent Boxing Day walking round the German Market in the City and then eating popcorn in front of the Muppet Christmas Carol which Will was frankly scandalised that Hannibal had never seen. He and Mischa sang all the songs.

The weather in January worsened and he missed a lesson because of the car. As he cursed the solenoid he realised, and kicked himself for being so slow that it was of course way more than just the lesson he was missing. Way more. He wasn’t sure if he was enchanted or terrified. Both. Probably. Hard to say which would win out. It might depend which one he fed.

It snowed so badly one evening that he got stuck in Baltimore and promptly spent an evening and night in the Lecter house that was both wonderful and intensely frustrating.

As he lay in bed trying not to think about how good Hannibal might feel either in him or under him, he wondered if he’d become the worst kind of cliché. 

Along from the guest room Hannibal spent that night wondering if he’d got it wrong or right and if Will was interested. There’d been all kinds of small things, touches, glances, gestures, words. But he was hard to get a read on. How much was just a friendly man who enjoyed their company. And how much was it somebody who wanted something more. A relationship? Sex? Love? Hannibal closed his eyes and battled with himself. Eventually he got up and went downstairs and made himself a drink and read for half an hour. 

Whatever it was it wasn’t worth jeopardising their friendship over. And if it went wrong Mischa would probably kill him. 

Breakfast the next morning was torture. It’s possible that Mischa might have quietly despaired. Even the strategic placement of mistletoe around the house hadn’t worked as far as she could tell.

..................................

Hannibal watched as Will packed his satchel with the additional sheet music. They’d up the lessons to twice a week, but Will occasionally came for a third evening as the concert drew closer.

“She’s doing well. Really well. I think she will be ready. More importantly she wants to do it. That’s great, right? I think so.”

Hannibal smiled and bent to pick a sheet that had slipped off the stand onto the floor. When he stood he realised he was just a little too close but instead of moving away Will looked at him and blinked hard.

Hannibal dropped the music, stepped closer put his hand on Will’s face and kissed him. He knew he hadn’t misjudged when Will wrapped his arms round his neck and opened his mouth and kissed him back, hard. It was urgent and demanding and just how Hannibal wanted to be kissed. God how he wanted to be kissed like this. Even more so when Will pressed himself right against him and shuddered with pleasure. For a moment he had to think of what they could possibly manage with his sister somewhere upstairs and certainly still awake.

Perhaps Will had the same thought as he pulled back a little and dropped his arms.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Hannibal kept a hand on his waist.

“Will? Right now, or at all?”

Will looked down and away. He half waved a hand in the air.

“I’m not good at this. I don’t.. I can’t.. shit. I’m so sorry.”

He disengaged himself and focused on packing the last of the music into his bag. Hannibal watched as he crumpled it in his haste.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’ll just go. I.. shit.”

Hannibal stared back and frowned and then followed him out into the hallway where Will stood miserably, alternating between putting on his jacket and running his hands through his hair.

“Look. It’s not you. Fuck. That’s terrible. I’m making it worse. Look. Oh god. I’ll..”

He ducked out of the front door and practically ran down the steps and along the path to the sidewalk. A few moments later Hannibal heard the car door slam and then heard the engine start. He shut the door and leaned against it.

Tentatively he pressed a finger to his bottom lip, which Will had bitten down on. He hadn’t imagined it. His mouth felt bruised. It hadn’t been unwelcome, so, what had just happened? He could still taste Will in his mouth, tea, and the cookies they’d eaten during the break, a little of the small glass of wine Will had allowed himself over supper. He closed his eyes.

.............................

 

The next two weeks involved some serious pouting on Mischa’s part and dismay on Hannibal’s. Will did not come to the house. He texted an apology and missed two lessons. Hannibal texted an apology back and then left a voice mail when Mischa insisted. They heard nothing further and it culminated in something of a shouting match.

“What did you say to him? Why has he cancelled. He never cancels. Even when his stupid car breaks down. It’s not fair.”

Eventually after several more rounds he’d thrown something back at her that he almost instantly regretted.

“I kissed him. And at first it was fine. And then it wasn’t. And I had no intention of him ceasing teaching you. I don’t know why he hasn’t come back. And yes. Of course I’ve apologised. You heard me do so. And I’m sorry, but I am also a little upset about it.”

She’d looked at him and then gulped back a few tears.

“Oh. Oh, ok. That’s a bit shit. Sorry. Why didn’t you say?”

Hannibal took a deep breath.

“Because I want you to be able to continue when he does feel he can return. And if he does, I shall make sure to be out, or busy or occupied or something.”

He had stopped then.

“I’m sorry. My darling girl. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t expect you to deal with my failings.”

She’d hugged him then.

“It’s ok. I kind of pushed you both. And you do like him. And I know he likes you. I don’t get it.”

Hannibal had sighed.

“I’m sorry to say that neither do I.”

 

......................................

 

Will slammed the driver’s door on the car and then grabbed his shopping from the trunk. He walked over to the front of the house.

“How on earth did you get out here?”

Mischa shrugged. It had been a bit of a schlep but that wasn’t the point. Will shook his head at her.

“He’s going to be so pissed. Worried mostly. But it will come out pissed.”

She shrugged again.

“I didn’t know what else to do. I thought you might not come back. He’s really sorry by the way. In case you hadn’t realised.”

Will sighed and then stepped past where she was sat on the porch steps and unlocked the front door.

“It’s not Hannibal’s fault. It’s no one’s fault. Look come in and let’s ring him.”

She stood up and shrugged again. All teenage girl.

“I already texted him. He knows I’m ok. I guess he’ll come and get me.”

She followed him into the house and closed the door behind her and turned.

“Wow. That is a lot of dogs. I didn’t really believe Hannibal when he said. I thought he was exaggerating. You know? For effect.”

“Yeah? No. I’ve got seven. One was my dad’s. The rest are all rescues. They turn up all the time. You want tea? I’m making some tea.”

He bustled around in the kitchen while Mischa leaned against the doorway morosely.

“So. Are you coming back. Or was it just that bad a kiss?”

He threw a look her way.

“He told you then?”

“That he kissed you and that you didn’t react well? Yeah. Sure. He wouldn’t tell me if you’d had sex. He’s not crass. And anyway ewww. But he felt he had to explain that it wasn’t me. So. You know. Sorry.”

Will filled the kettle and plugged it in and then got down two mugs, and then considered and added a third. He put tea bags in all three.

“I’m not good in relationships. With people. You know what happened. I panicked. I’m just. I like him. And you’re ok.”

He smiled a little as she rolled her eyes.

“But I don’t do well and I get anxious, and then. Well. It all starts to spiral and that’s no good for anyone. So. It was a good kiss.” He paused for a moment. “But it’s a bad idea. And that’s all I can say without freaking myself out some more.” He paused again. “So please don’t ask me anything else.”

They drank their tea in the front room, the dogs milling around them a little unsettled. When the Bentley drew up Hannibal didn’t get out he just tooted the horn.

Mischa stood up and then handed Will her mug.

“Thanks for the tea. And, you know, sorry. I’ll tell him it’s ok.” She stopped for a moment and chewed her bottom lip. “I think you’ve talked your self out of it. But I get it. It happens. And you might not be coming back, right?”

Will sighed.

“I don’t know. I can’t promise either way. Let me think about it. And yeah. Tell him it’s ok.”

He watched from the window and saw her get into the passenger seat of the car, still holding the third mug full of tea. He watched Hannibal do a three point turn and head back along the unpaved road back onto the small lane that would take them back to the township and then the interstate.

She might be right. He might have talked himself out of it. Fed the terrified part of himself and not the enchanted hopeful bit. He bit down hard on his bottom lip and tried not to cry. The tea slopped a little over the rim of the mug as his hand shook.

..................................

 

Over the next week Will’s dogs benefitted from some lengthy walks in the snow draped landscape. A bitter wind had blown in a late flurry and he’d stood at his window wishing himself as blanked out by the whiteness as the surrounding fields. All the distinguishing features were rounded off by the drifts. All the sharp edges blunted. How long would it be before he no longer cut himself on his own psyche he wondered.

.......................................

 

Ten days after Hannibal had driven away from his little house he knocked at their’s and didn’t say anything when Mischa opened the front door, hugged him and then played the Bartok better than she’d ever played it before. He didn’t ask about Hannibal and she didn’t say anything either. He still wanted to cry. Just a little.

..................................

They spent the next two weeks making up for lost time. Will arrived promptly three times a week, he ate supper with Mischa several times when she asked. Of Hannibal there was no sign. She didn’t explain where he was just reheated the food when Will stayed, and made tea or coffee during the break in the lesson. He got the feeling she might be being very, very careful indeed. And he wasn’t quite sure whose benefit it was in aid of.

....................................

In the upstairs study Hannibal listened hard to the evolving music. It was. Well, it was beautiful. He closed his eyes and leant back in his chair. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in the house since Will had resumed his lessons with Mischa but it was the first time he’d let himself listen to their progress. And they had progressed. It was a lovely in every way. They stopped and he heard their voices and then some low laughter. He made himself be pleased and quietly berated himself for having got it so wrong.

............................

Alana leant towards him and whispered.

“She’s good. And looks so happy, you must be delighted.”

Hannibal smiled and kept a tight grip on the programme he held in his lap. Mischa had managed her solo piece well and she and Will were now settling ready to begin the playful duet. Almost certainly everyone was concerned for Mischa, the backstory concerning their parents was fairly well known, but he knew that this was probably at least as challenging for Will.

“Of course. And thank you for recommending him, it has been utterly transforming for her. He’s very good.”

Alana glanced at her friend.

“You don’t like him?”

Hannibal looked at her in surprise.

“I like him perfectly well? Why do you ask?”

She shrugged slightly and they both quieted as the compère explained what the pair were about to play. There was gentle laughter round the room and then Will set off.

....................................

Mischa flung her arms round her brother.

“Did you hear? Was it good? Are you pleased?”

He laughed and squeezed her and put an arm round her shoulders.

“I did. It was marvellous. More importantly are you pleased?”

“Yeah. It was ok. Can we get a coke or something? Those lights were really hot. I told Mr Graham to meet us at the bar if he wanted.”

Hannibal squeezed her shoulder.

“Alana has gone on ahead, I think she guessed you’d be thirsty and.. yes, let’s get something.”

Mischa pulled him along by the hand and he had just enough time to school his face into something socially acceptable before they arrived in the crowded bar. Ahead he could see Alana and possibly Margot Verger, a mutual friend that Hannibal had once treated. Next to the two women he could see Will laughing. He allowed to himself that it was possible he felt slightly sick.

Mischa glanced at him.

“Oh. Shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think of that. Is it. I mean. Will you be able to?”

“It’s quite alright. He’s done a wonderful job.”

“He said I’m a horrible pupil just so you know. And that he’s trying to bribe Fred to take me back.” She looked at him again. “He was joking. Hannibal. Honest, he was joking. He’s not going to stop teaching me. He said he’ll put me in for the next grade when we get back from Italy.”

“So we are going?”

She looked at him as though he might be crazy. And here in this press of people he felt like he might be. He accepted the drink from Alana, greeted Margot with something approaching good humour and even managed to shake Will’s hand and congratulate him. Trying not to drop it as though he had been burned. He was conscious all the time of Alana keeping an eye on him, so he managed to ease back on what he thought might be a slightly fixed smile.

Twenty minutes later and he’d managed to extricate himself enough from the group to have a conversation with a friend who owned a music shop in the city, and they became enmeshed in a discussion about Hannibal’s harpsichord. He and Tobias had always got along well and the conversation was an interesting one, until his friend leaned forwards and muttered.

“Will did a great job with Mischa, I’m pleased for her. It can’t be easy. But he’s giving me absolutely dagger looks. Fess up Hannibal, what’s the deal?”

Hannibal looked at him in surprise.

“Deal? There is no deal.” He tried a small laugh which sounded strained even to his own ears. “I’d thought there might be, but I was mistaken. Now tell me about the Italian gut?”

Tobias glanced over his shoulder again and then shrugged and proceeded to wax lyrical about the joys of Italian versus anyone else’s strings.

By the bar Will leaned over to Alana. Careful to avoid Mischa’s prying ears, and ever quivering antennae.

“Tobias and Hannibal. Is that a thing?”

Alana looked at him.

“I thought you weren’t interested.”

“Is that what he said?”

“He hasn’t said anything. He’s very carefully not said anything. I thought maybe you didn’t get along. And you’re never interested.” She put a hand on his arm. “Are you?”

He drained his glass, and smiled at her tightly.

“Depends on if I burned my bridges as well as pulled them up or not.”

...................................

There was no iced whiteness to hone his intent on so Will spent a week clearing out the shed, the old barn out back and then, eventually, he began to sort through the remnants of his father’s life.

It wasn’t the hand-tied fishing flies that did for him but an old programme for a concert his pupils had put on. His dad had come with him and had scribbled a few notes in pencil in the margins. ‘Nicely done’ he’d written beside one girl’s name and the piece she had played. Then he must have tucked the programme into a fishing supplies catalogue he’d been reading. 

Seeing Abigail’s name in black and white there reduced him to a sobbing mess of a man, hunched over, slid down beside the fold-out in the living and dying room, the programme and catalogue clutched tight to his chest. She’d been sweet, and kind, and in love with life. He wept for her and for every life cut short either by death or by fear. The dogs hovered and whined.

...................................

Will stood on the steps of the large house and remembered to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. He’d got this. He knocked and waited. Inside he could just hear footsteps coming across the parquet flooring.

Hannibal opened the front door.

“Will. I’m so sorry we weren’t expecting you. You have a lesson tomorrow I believe. I’m sorry, Mischa isn’t here.”

Will smiled slightly. And then sidled in when Hannibal opened the door a little more.

“I know. She’s at Beverley’s right? Some birthday thing. Sounded frankly horrendous but she seemed excited. I told her she had to get at least some sleep, no dozing off tomorrow. And she better have practised.”

He stopped himself from babbling on. Hannibal frowned minutely at him.

“Perhaps you’d like a coffee or something? I’m sorry. If you knew she wasn’t.. I don’t quite follow..?”

“Coffee sounds good. After you.”

Hannibal smiled slightly. Bossy Will could be very entertaining. He squared his shoulders as they walked down the hallway, better not to let his thoughts leak in that direction.

In the kitchen Hannibal set the percolator going.

“How can I help? Is this about the exam? Or?”

Will undid the buttons on his jacket and then took it off and dumped it across the armchair that sat in the corner.

“Actually I wanted to talk about Italy.”

“Italy?”

“Yeah. You know. Mediterranean country. Shaped like a boot. Home of the Renaissance.”

Hannibal smiled and turned to the fridge and took out a carton of milk that he set on the counter top. He reached down into the dishwasher and pulled out two mugs.

“I’m modestly familiar. What about it?”

“I want to come. With you. To Italy. If I didn’t completely fuck this all up.”

Hannibal stilled and looked up at him sharply.

“But..”

“I managed to get on a stage and perform.” He thought about the programme with Abigail’s name in it, of his father. So much life lost. “I’d like to think I’d be willing to give this a shot too. You know. The world didn’t end and they even applauded.”

A smile slowly spread across Hannibal’s face and Will let himself relax further when Hannibal laughed.

“Are you imagining I might as well?”

Will laughed too.

“Actually, yes, I think you might.”

..................................

 

Hannibal leaned on the balustrade of the small balcony and looked out over the Rialto.

“Did Mischa go for breakfast?”

He turned his head and looked at Will over his shoulder.

“She did. She was very specific about how long she and Beverly would be.”

“God. She’s great. In that case why are you over there?”

“I’m enjoying the sunshine.”

“Good. You can enjoy it just as well over here. Come back to bed.”

He turned and smiled, and then draped his robe over the back of one of the upright chairs. He’d been right. Bossy Will could be very entertaining. He watched as Will stretched.

“Is this a bribe.”

“It’s a lure. I’m being alluring.”

Hannibal looked at Will, lazy and golden, spread across the white cotton sheets, half smiling at him. He leaned over and kissed him and as he pressed a hand gently to his throat he felt Will arch up into the touch.

On the canal below he could hear a gondolier singing. Badly. It didn’t matter.

**Author's Note:**

> And thank you for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos and comments always gratefully received..


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